


And We Ran

by Ricky B (littletoes101)



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6911269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletoes101/pseuds/Ricky%20B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Labeled an anomaly and packed away in the SCP Foundation, Dictator is unable to continue their duties as a dimension traveler. Because of this, they are unable to continue keeping peace between dimensions, and situations quickly begin to spiral out of control. Their "brother" Elijah is sent to rescue them, not knowing the SCP has their own dimension traveler on their side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This work is registered under the CC-BY-SA 3.0 license ( http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/legalcode ), and this work and all of its fanworks are based off of the SCP Foundation, found here: http://www.scp-wiki.net/

In the middle of a dimly-lit room, two figures stood. More accurately, one sat, and the other stood, neck craned slightly to look down at the sitting figure. They both appeared to be rather young; one could be no older than seventeen, and the other was likely still under the age of twenty-one. Both of them were strikingly similar in appearance; both had tan skin, curly hair done up in an afro-like style, and chocolate brown eyes. The one standing had slightly darker skin, with several scars on his face, and mouth drawn into a tight, angry frown. The one sitting had his legs crossed at the knee, folding his hands on top of it as one of his legs bounced incessantly.

“Why am I not surprised,” the one standing groaned. “The only time you ever call me here is when you want me to clean up another one of your fuck-ups.”

“It’s not a fuck-up,” the sitting figure muttered. Their leg was bouncing faster now. “It was a mistake. I didn’t realize sending Dictator on that mission would put them into direct contact with the Foundation.”

“Yeah, well, it happened, didn’t it?” The figure sneered. “And now you’re wanting me to go fix it. So I’m not wrong, am I?”

“Not… not technically.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you Ricky, but I don’t wanna do it.” The taller figure crossed his arms as the other, Ricky, looked up at him angrily.

“You don’t have a choice, Elijah. I’m your superior, and I’m telling you to —”

“Cut the superior bullshit! I don’t wanna do it.”

Ricky gritted his teeth irritably. “And, again, _you don’t have a choice._ As much as you two dislike each other, Dictator needs to be here. We can’t operate without them.”

“It’s not my fault you have a sentimental value to the little brat,” Elijah spat back at him. “Find someone else to take its place, I don’t care.”

“You know it’s not that easy.”

“Then why don’t you go get them yourself?”

“Because — ” Ricky cut himself off for a moment, swallowed, and then continued. “Because you’re better than me at this kind of stuff. I don’t have the same combat-based powers you do.”

“Aww, you’re gonna make me blush,” Elijah deadpanned, flicking his wrist in Ricky’s direction. “I’m still not convinced.”

“This is for the good of all dimension travelers,” Ricky said exasperatedly. “And, you’ll get to kill things.”

“Oh, really?” A smile, cruel and cold, made its way across Elijah’s face. “Can I kill the brat too?”

“You’re supposed to be rescuing them, so no.”

“Phooey. That brat still owes me one free killing.”

“Well, you can take that up with them later. Do we have a deal?”

A moment of silence stretched on between them.

“Yeah. Sure. We have a deal.”


	2. Escape

Dictator could not remember the last time they actually slept. They did not define sleeping as falling down and losing consciousness. Sleep was a time for them to re-charge, to learn to accept what had happened that day and turn it into something positive while they dreamed.

They had not dreamed in the past six months.

This was because for the past six months, they had been a prisoner of the SCP Foundation. Despite being told multiple times they were not a prisoner, Dictator refused to believe it. What else could this place be called? When you took someone who was minding their own business and plopped them down in a six-by-eight foot cell in a secure government facility, what else did you call it? A vacation?

Dictator rolled onto the back on the bed in their cell. It was small, hard, and had no sheets, forcing them to curl up to escape the cold that surrounded them. The tinier a ball they curled up into, the slightly better they felt. Maybe they could curl up tight enough so that they disappeared.

Just as they were in the process of curling up as tight as they could, there came a loud banging on their cell door. Dictator groaned. Breakfast had already come and gone, what did they want from them now? They always dreaded whenever personnel came to their cell, because it was usually C-class personnel who cared little about them and even less about their well-being. The doctors and scientists were objectively worse in Dictator’s eyes, for they had taken the one thing that never should have been taken: Oliver.

It was only natural that Oliver had been taken from them. A tiger of his disposition and designation was almost immediately labeled an anomaly, and there was no way they would let Dictator keep such a dangerous animal by their side, despite Dictator’s desperate cries that he was government sanctioned and they needed him. They just laughed: _what tiger is government sanctioned? A tiger as a service animal?_ In everyone’s defense, Oliver _was_ government sanctioned, just not by any government they had ever heard of.

The banging continued. “SCP-3009, confirm your presence!”

They hated that number. Dictator’s given name was perfectly fine, why did they feel the need to change it? “Confirmed,” they said back, venom dripping from their words like dew on a morning blade of grass. “What do you pests want now?”

“We are coming in. Hands on your chest.”

Dammit. Just as they were thinking they might actually get some peace today, Dictator sat up and leaned against the wall, crossing their hands over their chest, as it was protocol to do so when personnel were entering the containment area of a humanoid anomaly. The locks on the metal door clicked open, and slowly the door opened, creaking all the way. Dictator winced at the noise and resisted the urge to put their hands over their ears.

The door opened to reveal a female doctor, flanked by what appeared to be two class C personnel. Oh, great. Dictator knew what this meant: more testing. For the few months they had been here, most of it had either been spent sleeping or testing with little time for anything else. They seemed so… fascinated with them. They kept asking questions Dictator didn’t have answers to, poking them and prodding them, strapping them down to take samples. Most interviews with Dictator lasted only a few minutes before they got frustrated and threw something. This one would likely be the same.

“Oh, great, a woman this time,” Dictator grumbled. “What, do they think I’ll talk more or something with a woman? ‘Cause I’ve heard of those theories and they only work with men. In case you didn’t know, I don’t have a gender!” Despite their apparent tough words, there was an audible tremble in Dictator’s voice, accompanied by their small Adam’s apple bobbing as if trying to swallow back tears. The female doctor smiled that plastic, fake smile all doctors gave whenever they came into Dictator’s containment area.

“My gender has nothing to do with getting you to talk, SCP-3009.”

“Don’t call me that, my name is Dictator!” They snapped back, quick as a flash. “And I don’t wanna go anywhere without Oliver. Where’s Oliver? Give him back to me and let me know he’s safe!”

“SCP-3009-2 is none of your concern.”

“Like hell! Get out of my sight.”

“Not possible, SCP-3009. It’s time to do some more biological testing, just a few blood samples and you’ll be on your way.”

Dictator pulled their knees up to their chest and put their chin on their knees, staring over at the doctor and personnel. One of the class C’s looked like he was ready to lunge over there, grab Dictator by the scruff, and pull them down the hallway. The other one looked like he was just having a bad time. Dictator contemplated making that bad time worse, but eventually, their shoulders sagged as they mentally gave in. What was the point of even fighting anymore, other than to give themselves some entertainment?

“I want Oliver,” they said one last time in a very small voice.

“Not possible, SCP-3009. Come along now.” The doctor extended her hand, as if Dictator was being given a choice. Slowly, they got down from the bed and staggered over to the doctor, taking the hand extended to them as if it was made of some disgusting material, gripping the palm of her hand with their thumb and forefinger. The doctor smiled, but Dictator ignored the smile, looking straight ahead at the hallway behind her with an unblinking gaze.

“Very good.” The doctor didn’t say anything about the way Dictator was holding her hand. Instead, she simply nodded to the two personnel, and they began walking, flanking the doctor and Dictator uncomfortably close.

Just as they were turning down the hall to the testing room, there was a small rumble in the building. That was not necessarily unusual; there had been several instances Dictator could remember where the Foundation’s foundation had rumbled or shifted a bit. No real harm had ever been caused, and the reason was usually benign, but this had Dictator clutching at their chest for some reason.

“I want Oliver,” they said once more, this time in a slightly more panicked tone.

Before anyone could reply, a voice familiar and deep came from behind them in the hallway.  
“You’ll see him soon, little brat.”

Dictator, the doctor, and the two personnel whipped around in a flash. There, standing before them, was a tall, lanky, skinny tan-skinned man who looked very similar to Dictator themselves. His eyes were slightly narrowed, and his lips were in a crooked grin. One hand held a lighter, and the other was on his hip.

“Elijah,” Dictator murmured.

“That’d be my name.”

“Stop right where you are!” One of the personnel commanded. They reached for the radio on their vest. “You are not authorized to be here!”

“Oh, calm down, I’m just your regular old Average Joe, just like you,” Elijah said nonchalantly, still holding the lighter in his hand. He flicked it open right as the first personnel was calling for an MTF and lit it, a small flame appearing in the lighter. Dictator smiled, knowing what was about to happen.

Both of the personnel burst into flames, combusting right before their eyes. The doctor screamed and jumped back, but Dictator stood there, unaffected by the flaming men now stumbling around them.

“Hey, get out of there,” Elijah barked at Dictator. “If you get burned, Ricky’s gonna have my ass. C’mere and give your big bro a hug, brat.” He opened his arms, and Dictator ran away from the doctor and burning men and into Elijah’s arms, curling around him like a tree trunk. Elijah laughed, bending forward a bit as he wrapped his arms around Dictator’s back, hoisting them into his arms. “Ready to get going?”

“Oliver,” they repeated, tugging at Elijah’s shirt collar.

“Right here.” A few kissing noises passed through his lips, and from around the bend in the hallway lumbered a Sumatran tiger, probably around six-hundred pounds, wearing a blue leather collar and black harness. He chuffed exactly three times as he approached Dictator and Elijah, craning his neck up to bump his head against Dictator’s arm.

“You always think of everything for me,” Dictator smiled, leaning down and rubbing the cat between his ears.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not doin’ this for you, I’m doin’ it so Ricky doesn’t throw my ass on the barbeque,” Elijah muttered, still holding Dictator in his arms. “Now can we get going?” Sirens had started blaring well before the flaming men died, and the doctor was trembling in the corner, eyes wide and tears streaming down her face. Dictator ignored her yet again.

“Yes, let’s get going. Pull up a portal to somewhere safe,” Dictator said, wrapping their arms around Elijah’s neck and burying their face in it. Elijah sighed heavily.

“Not gonna help me then, huh? Ah, well.” With a wave of his hand, the air in front of them distorted slightly, wavering a bit as if it was not really there. “Take us to the safe place.”

Elijah, Dictator, and Oliver all stepped through the portal just as the MTF arrived, bullets whizzing past their ears as they disappeared into the wavering air.


End file.
